


What Could've Been

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Adara Birthday Celebration [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Dreams, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek's Dream, Don’t copy to another site, Dreams, Established Relationship, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Did you finish?” Stiles asked quietly, Derek’s gaze rising to meet his eyes. “School, I mean. Did you finish?”Derek looked back down at the books, moving a step closer and nudging the nearest one with his foot. “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly.“It does to me.”Derek looked over at him again, and Stiles just stared back, waiting for an answer. He wanted to know how much of his life Derek had given up because of being a Werewolf. How many things he’d had to sacrifice because he was born to a family of wolves instead of regular old humans like Stiles’ parents. How much he’d suffered because he wasn’thuman.





	What Could've Been

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/gifts).



> Happy Birthday [Adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/pseuds/adara)!!!
> 
> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Stiles knew he shouldn’t be snooping. He knew that it was a huge pet peeve of Derek’s, when Stiles went through all of his stuff. But it was impossible to resist! Derek legitimately owned so much stuff, all hidden away in boxes in the large, empty building beneath the loft, and when Stiles woke up before his lazy ass boyfriend, he got _bored_.

He was fairly certain Derek was used to it by now, anyway. They’d been dating for almost two months, and the routine hadn’t changed. Stiles always woke up first—how Derek slept through him waking up, he didn’t know, but whatever—and then he kissed Derek, went downstairs to make coffee and raid his pantry and fridge, and then sat watching the news for a bit.

When the news got too depressing, Stiles played some games on his phone until he finally lost interest in _everything_  and wandered downstairs. The first time he’d done it, he’d felt a little guilty, but had wanted to see what Derek’s life was like _before_  he’d come back. What he’d been up to in New York, how things had been, what he’d hoped to do with the rest of his life.

In the end, going through the boxes wasn’t a bad thing. He’d found a lot of photos of Derek and Laura, which he’d been putting up in the loft. Derek hadn’t said anything, but Stiles caught him staring at them every now and then. He supposed Derek hadn’t realized how much it helped having them around. It helped remind people of the good times with ones they’d lost.

Stiles had a photo of his mom in his room.

When he’d wandered downstairs today, he’d looked around for an interesting box, since they were all vaguely labelled—seriously, why had the kitchenware been labelled as ‘trash’? Stiles would never know.

He wandered around, looking at all the boxes, and frowned when he saw one labelled ‘what could’ve been.’ That was a little... he didn’t know. Kind of worrying? Had Derek left behind some super gorgeous model girlfriend and this was an ode to their relationship?

Stiles hesitated, knowing he might just end up getting hurt, but to be fair, the boxes had been labelled years ago, long before he and Derek had been together. Hell, long before he and Derek had even been _friends_.

So, glutton for punishment, Stiles pulled two boxes off the one he wanted, then sat down and used his keys to tear through the tape keeping it shut. When he pulled open the flap, he’d honestly been bracing himself for something extremely painful, but he just frowned in confusion instead.

The entire box was full of books. Not even leisure books, but what looked like textbooks. Stiles frowned even more, reaching in and pulling the top one out, since it was face down and he couldn’t see the title.

It was called _Criminological Theory_ by Frank P. William III and Marilyn D. McShane.

Stiles stared at it for a long while, not entirely sure he understood. Well, no, he understood, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to _believe_  it. Because the box name had been super pessimistic, like a lost dream. One Derek had once had and given up on.

He pulled another book out of the box, this one called _The Practice of Research in Criminology and Criminal Justice_ by Ronet D. Bachman and Russell K. Schutt.

Stiles kept pulling books out, and all of them related to Criminology. Some were first editions, some newer, but they all alluded to a number of years studying this one faculty. Stiles knew that Derek had returned to Beacon Hills in his second month of his third year of university, but he hadn’t ever asked about his major.

Stiles himself had actually been taking online classes, and was set to graduate from university in a few months. He couldn’t help but wonder if Derek had bothered to finish his degree, or if he’d just given up when he returned because it was legitimately impossible to keep up with his studies while saving Scott and Stiles’ asses.

Then again, Stiles knew Derek spent a lot of time reading the first year they’d met. Maybe Derek _had_  finished his post-secondary education. Maybe he’d been hoping to get back to his dream someday, but with how things had gone down, he’d stayed and then just... never left.

“Good morning.”

Stiles had no idea how long he’d been sitting there holding one of the Criminology textbooks, but it was obviously long enough for Derek to drag his lazy ass out of bed. Stiles turned to look at him, and saw his expression very carefully guarded, eyes on the books laid out around Stiles.

He wouldn’t be schooling his features unless there was something for him to hide. Which meant this really _had_  been a dream to him, and it was something he was never going to get.

“Did you finish?” Stiles asked quietly, Derek’s gaze rising to meet his eyes. “School, I mean. Did you finish?”

Derek looked back down at the books, moving a step closer and nudging the nearest one with his foot. “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly.

“It does to me.”

Derek looked over at him again, and Stiles just stared back, waiting for an answer. He wanted to know how much of his life Derek had given up because of being a Werewolf. How many things he’d had to sacrifice because he was born to a family of wolves instead of regular old humans like Stiles’ parents. How much he’d suffered because he wasn’t _human_.

“Yeah,” he finally said, looking back down at the books once more. “I did.” He crouched beside Stiles, grabbing the closest book and flipping it open. Stiles could see notes in the margins, Derek’s neat print on almost every page as he flipped through the textbook, some sentences highlighted, others underlined, various arrows pointing to notes he’d written out.

“I wanted to help people,” Derek admitted, still flipping through the pages. “After what happened to my family, I just wanted to be able to help make a change in the world. I wanted to make a difference.” He reached about halfway through the book before he seemed to give himself a mental shake and shut it, tossing it back into the box. “That’s not a possibility for me anymore.”

“Why?” Stiles asked while Derek continued to pick up various textbooks, tossing them haphazardly back into the box.

“You know why,” Derek muttered, taking the book from Stiles’ hand last and then shutting the flaps on the box. He crossed them over each other so they’d stay shut, and then stood. He held his hand out to Stiles to help him up, but he made no move to take it, staring up at Derek.

“You were acquitted,” he insisted. “You didn’t do any of those things.”

“ _You_  know that,” Derek said. “Your dad and Parrish know that. But other people don’t. They never found Laura’s killer. They never found any of the killers for the things I was blamed for. They never had a suitable explanation for the deaths that surrounded me, whether I’d legitimately killed someone to protect the town or not. I can never get a job in this field.”

He raised his eyebrows, giving his hand one small shake, clearly telling Stiles to hurry up and take it so they could go have breakfast.

Well, second breakfast for Stiles. Actual breakfast for Derek.

Stiles didn’t want to. He wanted to keep arguing with him, insist there had to be a way, something he could do to help. But he could see how much it pained Derek to talk about a dream he’d once had that yet again would never come true. Because Derek wasn’t allowed to have nice things.

Most of the time, Stiles felt like Derek believed their relationship was all a dream. He’d wake up in the night sometimes to Derek holding him tightly, shifting his arms somewhat and counting to ten, like he was making sure he only had ten fingers. Like he was making sure he was honestly awake.

Derek had given up a lot in life, and it seemed like he could barely handle even having Stiles, because he probably hadn’t _ever_  gotten anything he wanted.

Stiles reached out and took his hand, letting Derek help him to his feet. Derek kissed him temple, then released him and turned to lead the way back upstairs. Stiles followed him, but before doing so, he turned to look at the box once more, reading the words on the side.

‘What could’ve been.’

* * *

“You want me to what?” the sheriff asked, fork halfway between his plate and his mouth.

“Give Derek a job.”

His dad stared at him for a long while, as if trying to determine whether or not Stiles was joking. He seemed to realize he wasn’t and let out a sigh, putting his fork down and rubbing one hand across his mouth.

“Stiles, if Derek is having problems financially—”

“What?” Stiles frowned. “No, he’s fine. What does that have to do with anything?”

His father stared at him, looking a little confused, now. “Why else would he need a job?”

“Oh.” Stiles realized he probably should’ve been more informative. He thought he had been, but it was hard to keep track of the words sometimes. He always felt like he was saying more than he actually was, which was hilarious when he thought about it because he’d been told more than once that he spoke too much. “Derek went to school for Criminology. Graduated and everything. He wanted to be a detective or something when he was done school, but I think he’d be okay with being a cop. He’s a Werewolf, so he’d ace any physicals, and it’d be good to have another Supernatural on the force. You’re always hurting for new cops, so this is perfect. Works out for everyone.”

He knew that wasn’t the problem, but maybe if he ignored the _actual_  problem hard enough, it would just cease to exist. Unlikely, but he could hope.

“Stiles, you know I can’t do that,” his dad said softly.

“Why not? He’s qualified. He’d be a great cop. He could play bad cop!”

“Stiles,” his dad insisted, but he cut him off.

“Think about it! He’d be _great_  at crime scenes! With the nose and the lie-detector and the speed. He’d catch every bad guy who ran off. _And_ , less of a chance of him being injured!”

“Stiles,” his dad said again.

“Dad, come _on_. Just-just _help me_ with this.” He gave his dad his most pathetic look ever. “He’s been through so much. He had dreams once, dad. He had a future planned out. He wanted to _help_  people. That all went to shit because he’s a Werewolf. It’s not fair.”

“Nothing in life ever is,” his dad insisted softly. “Stiles, it’s not up to me. He’s got too many red marks against him. He was arrested—”

“And acquitted!” Stiles interrupted, but his father continued as if he hadn’t.

“—and sought after by the FBI.”

“Because they caught him killing a Vampire!” Stiles insisted. “It wasn’t murder!”

“Would you like to call them up and tell them that?”

“Dad,” Stiles insisted, leaning forward. “Dad, Derek _deserves_  to get what he wants. He just wants a chance. He wants to make a difference. Please. _Please_. Can you—just _try_!”

His father watched him for a long while, inspecting every inch of his face, then let out a small sigh and Stiles was positive he’d won, but his hope fizzled out and died when he said, “Sorry, Stiles. This isn’t up to me. He’s got too much on his record.”

Stiles deflated and sank back into his chair, using his fork to play with the broccoli on his plate and feeling bitter. Not at his dad, because this wasn’t his fault. Just at how much of Derek’s life had been ruined because he was a Werewolf.

His first love died. His family was murdered. He was constantly under arrest and being accused of things he hadn’t done. He’d been tortured, he’d been abused, he’d been sexually assaulted. Derek always suffered, he always had to settle for not getting what he wanted, and it wasn’t fair.

Stiles was _definitely_  never breaking things off with him. Nevermind he was in love with him, but he just couldn’t imagine taking away something else Derek wanted. The fact that Derek had legitimately asked him out was already insanely shocking.

Stiles still assumed it was because he’d wanted to just rip off the bandaid. Like he needed to get rejected so he could move on. Derek had already looked defeated when he’d asked Stiles out to dinner, emphasizing that it was a date. He’d been so surprised that his answer hadn’t even been a real word, and the only reason Derek knew the answer was yes was because Stiles was nodding so hard he’d hurt his neck.

And Derek’s face had been heartbreaking. He’d looked so surprised, and hopeful, and also terrified. Like he’d made a mistake, like he was about to lose someone he cared about. But Stiles didn’t let him back out. They went on their date, it went well, and then they just... kept going on dates. And now they were together, with Stiles practically living at the loft. He’d taken over half of Derek’s dresser, and had actually brought his pillow over because it was more likely than not that he’d end up sleeping over there.

Stiles was determined to give Derek _one thing_ he wanted, and if it couldn’t be the job of his dreams, well, at least Stiles could give himself to Derek.

“He went to school in New York, right?” his dad asked when the silence stretched for a long while. “NYU?”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, somewhat sadly. “He was in his third year when he moved back here, but he finished up online. He didn’t want to talk about it much, but I think he had the highest grade in his faculty.”

“And he wanted to be a detective?” the sheriff asked.

“I think so. He implied that, but I think he mostly just wanted to work in law enforcement. Help people, you know? I mean, he does that already, but I think he wanted to _officially_  do it.”

“Hm.” His dad brought another bite of food to his mouth. He kept asking him some questions about it while they ate, Stiles answering what he could and shrugging at the ones he couldn’t. Eventually, they finished up and while Stiles was washing the dishes, his father patted his shoulder. “Derek’s a good kid, Stiles. He might not get the job he wants, but he’ll always be someone I know I can count on.”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered.

He didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t the same thing.

* * *

Stiles didn’t mention his conversation with his father to Derek. He didn’t want to tell him about how he’d asked for him to get a job and had been shot down. He understood, because Derek’s record wasn’t exactly nice, but it sucked that his dad was a cop and Scott’s dad was in the FBI, and _neither_  of them would be able to fix this.

Not that he’d asked Scott’s dad, considering he didn’t know about the whole grr awoo thing, but still. If his father couldn’t do anything in Beacon Hills, he doubted a lowly agent for the FBI could do anything for Derek in the big leagues, either.

It had been almost a month since his conversation with his dad, and Stiles had mostly forgotten about it. Derek had been in a better mood lately, presumably because Stiles had stopped snooping through his things. He didn’t want to bring up any more terrible memories, so he figured all he could do was be there for Derek and remind him every day that he was wanted and loved and the best thing in the world.

Derek still woke up sometimes counting his fingers while wrapped around Stiles, but Stiles never said anything about it. Wasn’t like he didn’t have his own fair share of nightmares, but it was kind of heartbreaking to realize that Derek’s biggest nightmare was losing Stiles.

Stiles wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what. Even if he died, he’d find a way to come back for Derek.

They’d spent a majority of the day together, and were sitting together on the couch, Stiles leaning into Derek since he was nice and warm, and also cozy. There was a movie playing on the television, but they hadn’t been paying attention to it for a while since they were in the middle of arguing whether or not a famous author was a Supernatural being, given all her books were fairly on point. Just when Stiles thought Derek _might_  win, Derek’s phone went off. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned at the screen.

“It’s Parrish,” he said with a sigh. “He needs my help with something Supernatural-related.”

“Now?” Stiles whined, because he was comfy and warm and he didn’t want to lose his personal heater.

“Yeah.” Derek kissed whatever part of his forehead he could reach. “I’ll be quick. Order dinner if I’m not back before five.”

Stiles whined again like a child, but obediently pulled away so that Derek could stand. He watched him get his jacket and boots on, then exit the loft. Stiles contemplated running after him and tagging along, but it was best not to. Parrish often texted Derek when he needed a Werewolf’s help, and usually it was best for very human Stiles to stay away.

The two times he’d tagged along, he’d almost gotten killed. Not that this was a new development for him—and _wow_ , was that ever a sad realization—but usually it was best for him to obey in instances such as this. If it was bad enough the whole pack needed to be there, Stiles knew he’d be invited.

Besides, Scott always called him when everyone needed to be involved, so the fact that Scott wasn’t aware of the situation meant it wasn’t serious enough to warrant the Alpha’s attention.

Stiles just lay on the couch, watching the movie without really paying attention to it. When five rolled around, he ordered some Greek food because it was fast and cheap, and then waited for Derek to get back.

He didn’t, so Stiles went to pick up the food, and by the time he got home with it, Derek _still_  wasn’t back. Stiles tried not to panic about it, but he still texted to ask if everything was okay. He didn’t get a reply, which didn’t bode well, so he texted Parrish.

Surprisingly, Parrish _did_  reply, and said they were fine and almost done. Stiles relaxed, but only just. He hoped Derek was okay, because it was entirely likely Parrish had replied so Stiles wouldn’t freak out while Derek was actually lying on a table at Deaton’s being treated for who knew what.

It had happened before! People liked lying to Stiles about Derek!

To be fair, people lied to Derek about Stiles, too. They should’ve kept their relationship a secret, people were less honest with them now because they were dating.

Stiles put the food in the oven in hopes of keeping it warm, then went back to flip through the channels. He was slouched on the couch, still channel surfing, when the large door finally slid open and he jerked upright.

“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asked, eyes immediately inspecting him for any damage to his clothing that would suggest an injury. His clothes looked fine, though. Everything about him looked identical to when he’d left.

Derek crossed the room to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him. It startled him so badly that it took a few seconds for Stiles to reciprocate the kiss, but he eventually melted into it, pulling on Derek’s jacket and yanking him down onto the couch with him. The position was awkward, but they made it work, Derek holding him so tightly it was like he was scared to let him go.

When they finally pulled apart, Stiles was breathing hard and it felt like his brain had turned to mush. Derek could kiss his mind into silence, it was pretty incredible, really.

“Maybe you should leave more often if this is the welcome back I get,” Stiles said with a dopey smile. He knew why Scott always looked stupid when he talked about Kira now, because every time he and Derek did anything like this, he got all weird and stupid.

Man, he loved this guy. Derek Hale was his and he was going to hang onto him for as long as he could.

“Thank you.”

“You’re _so_  welcome,” Stiles said with a grin, then paused. “For what? I mean, yeah, I’m a great kisser and all, but you don’t usually thank me for it.” He kissed Derek again once, briefly, and then patted his side. “Come on, big guy. Let’s grab the food before it gets cold on us.”

Derek didn’t move off him, which made it difficult for Stiles to stand up. He was about to ask him if he was planning on moving any time soon when Derek reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pamphlet. Stiles frowned and took it, flipping it around to see the front, and froze.

It was for a police academy two hours away, where all the cops in the area went for final training before they joined the force.

“I don’t... understand,” Stiles said slowly, looking back up at Derek.

“Your dad pulled some strings. Scott’s dad helped. I was gone for so long because someone was in town for me to take the law enforcement entrance exam. Apparently my not being aware of it was one of the requirements, because they insisted if I wanted it bad enough, I’d do well on the exam without studying.”

“Is that even allowed?” Stiles asked incredulously.

“I don’t care, because I passed, and I’m going here in two weeks.” He motioned the pamphlet. “Your dad’s already got a spot open for me since he knows I’ll pass with flying colours.” Derek’s face broke out into a smile then, and suddenly, he looked like a little kid and Stiles felt his heart melt. “Stiles, your dad’s going to let me work with him. I’m going to be a police officer.”

For a few seconds, Stiles didn’t know how to react. His father had been so adamant he couldn’t do anything, that there was no way Derek would ever work in law enforcement. But then... he’d also asked all those questions. About where Derek went to school, what he’d studied, how he’d fallen into it.

Maybe... maybe his father had already been thinking about favours he could call in. Maybe he’d told Stiles ‘no’ so he wouldn’t get his hopes up, and had secretly been working on this in the background ever since that day.

He still thought it was a dick move, everyone shoving Derek into a room and telling him to take an exam when he had _no idea_ it was coming, but Derek had been passionate enough about this entire thing that Stiles wouldn’t have doubted he’d pass. Which he did.

“You’re gonna be a cop,” Stiles said softly. “Holy _shit_ , Derek! You’re gonna be a cop!”

Derek smiled again, then bent down to kiss him once more, one hand still on his cheek. “Thank you, Stiles.”

“Thank my dad. And Scott’s, apparently. How’d that happen?”

“Owed your dad a favour.”

“Huh.” Stiles wondered how many favours his dad had called in for this. He was totally owed a donut.

Hell, maybe two. Stiles was feeling generous.

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” Derek said softly.

“I wanted to. And dad totally said it wouldn’t work, so I guess I owe _him_ , now.”

“Yeah.” Derek smiled. “Come on, let’s have dinner.” He kissed Stiles again. “I’m gonna be gone for a while in two weeks, so we should take advantage of our time together while we can.”

He stood and held one hand out for Stiles to take, pulling him to his feet. They wandered towards the kitchen to get the food out and divided everything between two plates. They’d just sat down to eat when something occurred to Stiles.

“You’re gonna be working with my dad,” Stiles said, squinting slightly.

“So?”

“So he’s going to grill you on everything we’ve ever done together.” He pointed his fork at Derek. “Don’t you dare scar my dad, Derek!”

Derek smiled a little. “After everything he did for me, I’m going to do anything he says. _Including_  give him any details he doesn’t know he doesn’t want.”

Stiles groaned and buried his face in his hands.

His dad and his boyfriend working together was going to be the worst.

But at least Derek would have to rename the box now.

It wasn’t ‘what could’ve been’ anymore.

It was ‘what _is_.’

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Given Derek's shoddy past, I am well aware that no amount of favours would've gotten him a job in law enforcement, but this is fanfiction, and DEREK IS ALLOWED TO HAVE NICE THINGS! 
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).  
> (If it still exists by the time you read this lol)


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